She Could Do Better

Month 12 Day 12

2002 Hours

Smythe

 

 “Mac, am I late?”

Smitty looked up from his technical manual to see Ferguson approaching Colleen across the rec room. “Not really,” she answered. “Sit down. I hope Darznok is okay with you.”

“Um, I said a game,” he answered uncertainly.

“Darznok is a game,” she pointed out, equally uncertain.

Ferguson doesn’t look happy. “Mac, I meant something physical, like hoops.”

“Oh.” Now she doesn’t look happy. “I’m sorry, Ferg, I’m more in the mood for an electronic game tonight.”

The assistant chef eyed the game console. “I’ve never played Darznok.”

“And I’ve only ever watched it being played,” she returned. “Just hang on a second.”

Well, that date won’t last long, if neither of them have played the game before, Smitty surmised, and turned back to his manual. He raised his head again, realized she hadn’t yet sat down at the game console. Colleen was bent over the side of the table, and had opened a small access panel to the interior of the game, where her nimble fingers were hard at work. She finished what she was doing and looked around the rec room. “Hey, Freyer!”

“Yeah?” The young technician left the group watching Atakke and came over. “What’s up?”

“Look that over, would you?” Colleen asked. “Make sure I didn’t screw it up.”

Freyer rolled her eyes. “Mac, I’ve seen your work. You wouldn’t screw it up.”

“There’s an owner of a business specializing in recreational games who wouldn’t agree with you,” Colleen reminded the other woman. “Please check it out. I don’t want anybody claiming I broke it.”

She didn’t technically mess up the game. She cleared out a lot of gobbledygook and made it run more efficiently. Which wasn’t what the business owner wanted.

Freyer shrugged and considered the inner workings of the game table. “What were you trying to do?”

“Slow the game down to quarter speed.”

“Well, that’s what it’s set for,” Freyer agreed. “But why in space do you want it so slow?”

“Neither of us knows how to play Darznok.”

Freyer grinned. “You’re supposed to play with instincts, not thinking. Well, put it back the way it was when you get done with it.”

“Thanks, Stephee,” Colleen told the other girl as she moved off. The redhead sat down facing her date. “You were hoping for hoops, because you’ve seen me play with Bugalu and Yellow Dog, right? Yeah, I know how. But I can’t play with just anybody. For instance, I don’t dare play hoops with Tall Bear.”

“Are you still that touchy?”

“I probably always will be. So it surprised me when you asked for a date.”

“But you accepted.”

“To play a game. Since the game wasn’t specified, I thought it would be... safer to play something electronic. I don’t have any reason to dislike you. But don’t expect too much from me in the way of dates, Ferg, ‘cause I don’t have much to offer.”

Ferguson thought about that for a minute, then smiled. “Okay, what are the rules of this Darznok?”

Smitty turned back to his technical manual on the reading screen, and lifted his cup for a drink. It was empty. Oh, what’s the use? He gathered his things together and left, frowning as his eyes slid across the open access panel on the Darznok table.

He headed for a lower deck, not sure where he’d wind up with his tech manual in search of a fresh cup of coffee. He tried not to frown at Bugalu and Dahlquist when he passed them in the hall. That’s the 4th woman he’s been with in the past 5 days, and that doesn’t count Colleen. Pretty shabby treatment of a woman he was totally absorbed in only a month ago, it seems to me. She should date more than one. Bugalu’s fine enough, I’ve nothing against him, but she shouldn’t tie herself down to just one boy friend at her age. There’s still time for her to... find the right guy.

He entered the deck 11 rec room and chose a seat, sliding his technical manual into the viewer. Then he got a coffee from the dispenser and sat down to do some serious reading.

“I didn’t think that was possible on a starship,” a voice came up from the arboretum on the deck below. They must be inside the maze. Somehow, the hedge walls don’t dampen voices, but bounce them straight up. To here.

“Oh, it’s possible,” a female responded. “Just rare. But she’s got that Gaelunder metabolism, which doesn’t react the same way to inoculations.”

Gaelunder. Colleen. Is she ill?

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s supposed to be impossible.”

“Well, she hasn’t come to sick bay and had it confirmed. But I wouldn’t expect her to. That would get her a one-way ticket out of the Fleet, her being single. But I’ve been watching her, and I’ve seen all the signs.”

“Well, whose do you suppose it is?”

“There’s only one man whose it could be.”

“Bugalu? He’s dating everybody aboard again.”

“Funny how he can’t make up his mind, isn’t it? First they were inseparable, until she managed to pass probation. Then it was hit or miss for a while, and now she’s his constant once-a-week date. I think she hasn’t even told him yet.”

“You’re probably right. If a girl told me that, I’d be running like crazy.”

“You aren’t him. She’d know exactly how to say it. She’d play on his sense of responsibility. Even if he’s not the father, I’m sure she’d convince him he was.”

Father!

“You just said he was the father.”

“Well, how would I know?” the unseen woman returned, sounding peeved. “It seems logical that he’s the father, they’ve spent so much time together.”

“Well, who cares?” the man decided. “That’s their problem to figure out. Listen, all these plants are well and good, but I’d just as soon we go someplace with more guaranteed privacy.”

“Hmm, well, why didn’t you say so?” the woman purred. “We could have gone there straight away.”

Smitty didn’t know how long he sat in the now-silent rec room, trying to digest what he’d just heard. At long last, he had one coherent thought: Well, that’s that, then. They’ll get married before long, so any... dreams I might have had are completely out of the question now. As if they weren’t before. Unable to cope with that thought, he got up and made his way to his quarters, where he lay in his bed, unable to sleep. Or even to think clearly.

Locker Room Talk

Month 10 Day 31

2105 Hours

Capt Jane Burke

It wasn’t like Smitty to hang at her side the entire evening, but Jane was beginning to wonder when he would finally peel off and ask some woman to dance. Every time she glanced his way, he seemed to be watching a certain redhead as she... juggled... the attentions of 3 or 4 men and as many female friends. And occasionally, she had turned away men who asked her to dance, had even started to raise her voice to Evans.

It certainly doesn’t seem like Evans is getting the message. A few more days of recordings and I’ll start debriefing members of the A shift bridge crew. I’ll even debrief Evans, but those questions will be different from what I ask the others. I’ll have to debrief MacDowell, too, so I’d better come up with questions for her.

“The redhead’s a lot colder than she looks,” she heard Moor comment, as she passed behind him and another male. “She’s a real tease.”

“Someone should teach her not to,” Winthrop suggested.

“Enough!” Jane said sharply. Thought Moor had more sense than to hang around with Winthrop. She glanced at Smitty to see how he was reacting to the men’s overheard conversation, but the engineer’s gaze was focused across the room. She glared at the two surprised underlings before her. “I don’t care how good she looks, if she’s not interested, leave her alone. Don’t even try to use your rank that way or you won’t have that rank any longer. I thought it was understood that I won’t tolerate that behavior, but apparently two of my highest officers haven’t gotten the message, so have I made myself clear?”

“But, captain, anybody who comes here looking like that must want to stir up interest,” Winthrop replied boldly.

“Doesn’t mean she wants your interest,” Jane returned. She touched Smythe’s arm to get his attention. “What do you think, Smitty?”

He jerked his attention to her. “About what?”

His mind was a parsec away. Or at least across the room. “About Winthrop’s plans to accost Lt MacDowell.”

Smitty’s eyes rounded in surprise, then narrowed as he glared at the older man. He opened his mouth to speak, glanced back across the room, and closed his mouth again. He shook his head and sucked in a lungful of air. “She’s already taken.”

That sounded like he was reminding himself. Who does he think has caught the girl’s attention?

“Then why come looking like that?” Moor asked. “Maybe the man she thought she had caught is beginning to slip away.”

“You’re gossiping,” Smitty told him. “Some women simply like to dress up from time to time. Not everything they do is intended to catch a man!”

“Exactly right,” Jane agreed. “I would have done it myself, except that apparently I need to be in uniform to remind others of the type of behavior I expect on my ship. So, gentlemen, I hope I’ve made my position perfectly clear.”

“Absolutely,” Moor stated. “Perhaps we’re simply jealous that she isn’t interested in us.”

“Thoughts like that could easily lead one to bad behavior,” Jane told him blandly. “A woman doesn’t owe you attention just because you’re a higher rank. Treat them with the respect they are due because of their humanity and intelligence. Or I’ll know the reason why you don’t, and it had better not be jealousy.” She turned to continue her stroll around the edge of the ballroom, and Smitty doggedly tagged along with her.

“Smitty.”

Jane took another step forward and turned, to find Chef Anna Hamara had her hand on the engineer’s sleeve. Unlike most of the senior officers, Hamara wore a blue dress tailored somewhat in an oriental fashion.

“Good evening, Anna,” Smitty greeted her, placing his hand over hers. “You look beautiful.”

The corner of Anna’s mouth twitched. “Well, I tried, but I can’t compete with the younger ladies.”

“I think you’ve got that turned around,” Smitty told her. “None of them have your poise.”

Anna gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you, Smitty. Apparently, I needed a bit of flattery.”

“It’s not flattery when it’s true,” he returned. “Now, have you got the next dance open? I think we should show the youngsters how it’s done.”

“Well, I’m a little rusty. I think I stepped on Ferguson’s feet 3 times, but only twice with MacGregor. If you’re willing to risk it, I have got the next dance open. To be truthful, I was going to ask you.”

“Oh, it’s a case of great minds thinking alike, then,” Smitty said with a smile. The music had ended and people were leaving the dance floor. Smitty led the chef out so they were ready once the music began again.

Good. Now I don’t have to watch how I say things when I bawl people out. But how do I read that? Smitty’s perfectly comfortable and complimentary with Anna, and too often angry and disparaging with MacDowell. Of course, Anna is the same rank as Smitty, and the redhead isn’t. But is that all it is? He was good friends with Anna before Michael got in the way. And didn’t act much differently, back then. Without anything else to go on, I’d have to say he’s still just friends with Anna. As for young ladies of a lower rank, he’s usually courteous and polite, even if he finds it difficult to pull out the skills and knowledge he wants them to have.

So what’s different with MacDowell? I’m left with the same suspicions I had before. And I’m not sure he heard a single word I said to Moor and Winthrop. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t believe they were meant for him as well. Men never do.

No, that’s probably not being fair to Smitty. She cast a glance around the room, saw the redhead dancing with Drake. What is that, his 3rd or 4th dance with her? No more than Tall Bear or Bugalu, but they aren’t a superior rank to her. Do I need to have a talk with him as well?

In the next moment, Ferguson tapped Drake on the shoulder, obviously asking to cut in. Drake looked to MacDowell for guidance, she gave a slow nod, and then waltzed off with the cook. Well, at least Drake isn’t so besotted he won’t let another man cut in. As long as MacDowell agrees.

Daring Decision

Month 10 Day 25

1911 Hours

Bugalu

Bugalu walked into the living room of Room 42 expecting to find Mac working on her projects, and stopped in surprise. His adopted sister stood with a foot resting on her desk and was bent over, trying to touch her forehead to her shin. And she isn’t wearing that much, either, just a skimpy 2-piece exercise outfit. When did she get it? Abdulla did a blast of a job taking her shopping, but I’m not surprised I’ve never seen her wear this outfit in the gym.

She had twisted her head toward him when he entered, and now she stood up. “You shouldn’t be here,” she told him. “I’ve been confined to quarters. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to have visitors.”

“Actually, I’m here at Della’s invitation,” he returned. “Sort of.”

Mac gave him an uncertain, scared little grin. “Do I get to watch this time? Because I can’t leave.”

“I don’t think that’s what she had in mind,” he replied, and looked around the room, which was devoid of any other people, including Mac’s blond roommate. I guess Della let reason prevail about that crazy party idea she had. “I thought you’d be working on your projects.”

She grimaced and put her other foot on the desk to do a similar stretch. “I checked on them. The computer is chugging right along without too much input needed from me. Since I won’t be able to get to the gym to work out, I thought maybe I should try to see how much ballet I can remember. It’s shocking to see just how un-flexible I am these days. So I guess I’ll be working on that.”

“You should have told Smythe you didn’t build those things.”

She stood up again and walked over to stand in front of him. “I tried. He wouldn’t even let me finish the sentence. He obviously was not in the mood to listen to anything I said.” She put a hand on his shoulder, raised the opposite foot behind her and tried to coax it toward her head with her other hand.

Bugs heard the door open behind him. “You might want to get some clothes on,” he suggested. Mac stopped stretching to peer around him, then turned and made a mad dash for the bedroom. In a moment, he heard the bathroom door close. He turned to find Capac and Ryan staring at the bedroom, their mouths open.

“Did we... interrupt?” Capac asked.

“No,” he answered. “She’s a little upset.”

“Can’t blame her!” Della stated, and Bugs realized she was organizing a few bottles of liquor on her desk. “I can’t imagine what she’s done that makes Mr Smythe so angry with her all the time.”

“Well, has she been in his bed yet?” Ryan asked. “Maybe he’s overheated.”

Interesting idea. But the look Bugs gave the other man was cold. “He’s not Winthrop.”

Ryan grinned. “No, of course not. But he is a man.”

Della giggled. “Some of us wonder. He never even looks at a female.”

“You mean, female engineers,” Ryan corrected. “I hear he’s seen Monroe.”

“Who hasn’t?” Bugsy asked. “She’s almost as active as you, Della.”

“Almost,” Della agreed cheerfully.

More people entered, some carrying bowls of snacks. Kyle brought 1 of the mistletoe units and let it loose. Someone started some music. By the time Mac emerged from the bathroom - fully dressed in long sleeves and slacks - Della’s party was going full steam. “What’s going on?” Mac asked in bewilderment.

“Della’s having a party,” Capac told her. “But you didn’t need to change for it.”

Mac looked around wildly. “Della!” She hurried across the room, and her roommate obligingly turned her attention away from Ryan. “Della, we can’t have all these people here! I’m confined to quarters!”

“They’re my guests, not yours,” Della answered with a shrug, and moved away.

Mac opened her mouth to protest, hesitated, and then had to follow the blond, who stopped next to Bugalu. “Wait. Does that work? It doesn’t seem right.”

“Look, I wanted to have a party,” Della told her. “It’s not your fault if Mr Smythe didn’t know that.” She turned to the helmsman. “Tell her, Bugalu.”

Bugsy stared into Mac’s green eyes and knew he could not give his sister the answer Della wanted him to give. It’s obvious Mac hasn’t been studying regulations. And whatever I tell her right now, she’ll accept as the truth. Because I keep her out of trouble. But if Della is determined to have a party, and Mac realizes she can’t stay here during such a thing, but she can’t leave... What a mess. It’s never pretty when roommates argue. “Here’s the thing, Mac-”

“Hey, Mac.” Ferguson breezed past, put a hand on her arm to turn her to face him. Her back suddenly stiff, her hands clenched, she swung into a fighting stance and took half a step backwards. Ferguson held up his hands, palms facing her. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. But I thought maybe... you know.” He gestured over her head. “Mistletoe”. He grinned.

“Not again!” she groaned under her breath. “It was almost a relief to get confined, to get away from that stuff.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big kiss, Mac,” Ferguson stated softly.

She placed a dainty hand on the big cook’s chest. Then stiffened her arm so he couldn’t pull her any closer, grabbed Bugalu’s tunic with the other hand and pulled him toward her. “Bugalu?”

He couldn’t help but remember the feel of her body pressed against his as they danced, during her first shore leave on the Fireball. My kissing her - again - is probably not a good idea. “Not me, Mac. Pick someone else.”

“Please, Bugs!” she pleaded. “Papa...” She couldn’t finish, but he knew what she meant. Blast! Papa has lousy timing! This would have been the perfect time for her to experiment with kissing and then laugh it off and use the mistletoe as an excuse, if anybody wanted too much. “Please, Bugs,” she breathed, stepping closer.

He sighed. This is against my better judgment. “All right,” he agreed, and slipped an arm around her. He intended a light, quick meeting of the lips, but found he couldn’t end it that quickly. Her arm slipped around his neck, and he pulled her tight.

Confession

Month 6, Day 1

Chef Anna Hamara

1344 Hours

Anna put the last of the pies in the oven, set the timer, and walked over to the pale technician at the washer. “Are you holding up, Clark?”

The youngster gave her a lop-sided attempt at a smile. “I’ve been better.”

“You shouldn’t be here. You might infect the entire crew.”

“Where do you think I caught it? Anyway, isn’t the entire crew expected to catch it?”

True. “How are the dishes coming?”

“Unless Ferguson’s hiding some, this is the last. Mostly pans from the line.”

“Good work. If-“ Anna paused and corrected herself. “When you can’t take anymore, just let one of us know you’re leaving.”

“Chef, your staff is at half-strength now.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, but you also have to take care of yourself.”

“The line’s clean,” Ferguson reported, stepping into the kitchen from the dining hall. Without orders, he got a huge pot down from the rack, threw in some water, spices and two chickens from the frig, then set it to cooking on the burner next to the slightly smaller pot that was already simmering.

“I have broth cooking for sick bay,” Anna pointed out, surprised he hadn’t seen it.

“Eckleson from fabrication says Dr McGregor ordered the multi-purpose room converted into a sick bay ward. Considering how many people I’ve seen today looking white, I’m not sure one pot will be enough. We can always freeze it until it’s needed.”

“Good thinking.” She turned to the other tech, who was wiping down the main work table. “Gales, get 6 chickens from the freezer and put them in the frig to thaw.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She considered the few people she had left; Ferguson, 2 techs - one of them currently on an errand - and 2 ensigns. She clapped her hands for their attention. “Okay, forget what I had planned for the next meal. We don’t have the man-power. We need to simplify our meal plans and cut back how much we prepare, but be prepared to quickly produce more. Any ideas?”

Her staff was surprised, still getting accustomed to a chef who didn’t hide in her office. Ensign Pena finally spoke. “Tacos are simple.”

Have I ever put them on the menu in the past 2 years? Anna reviewed the necessary ingredients. “Simple, but we don’t have shells.” I hate to squash the first suggestion.

“We have plenty of the raw ingredients for them,” Pena returned. “They were the first thing I learned to cook.”

“Do they take a lot of work?” Clark asked.

“No. I learned this recipe when I was 5!”

“Okay,” Anna told her. “But you may have to stay late to teach the next shift.”

“If we make too much,” Pena added, “the extra hamburger can be chili tomorrow, and the shells broken into chips.”

“That’s thinking ahead,” Anna said with a smile. “What else?”

“We could make soup from some of this broth,” Ferguson suggested. “And sandwiches. One type per day, like ham and cheese, but different every day.”

“That’s enough for supper and lunch. What about those wanting breakfast?”

“Scrambled eggs.” Ensign Jang suggested. “Much easier than cooking them individually.”

“Good. That’s a protein, so we won’t do a breakfast meat. But the potatoes that are cooked for breakfast require more work than I think we can handle right now.”

“My mother puts vegetables in scrambled eggs,” Clark offered. “Corn. Peas. Even beans or carrots. Whatever she has a can of.”

“That would allow some variety from day to day, too.” Anna beamed. “And oatmeal for a 2nd choice. Thank you, people. I’ll remember to pick your brains more often. Ferguson, get things organized back here, and... better start another pot of broth. I’ll wipe down the tables out front.” She grabbed a clean damp cloth.

“Watch out for Mr Smythe,” Ferguson warned her. “He’s in a foul mood today.”

She turned back in confusion. “Why is he here at this time of day?”

“Since he’s not in uniform, I’d guess it’s his day off. He’s been sitting out there since just after 10.”

“He never knew what to do with himself if he couldn’t work,” Anna muttered, and started for the dining room.

Smitty was the only person in the dining hall, sitting at a corner table that had was pushed into the corner so that only one empty side was available, and that chair was missing. His shoulders were slumped in... boredom, probably.

Anna systematically wiped tables and put the furniture back into its normal arrangement. Eventually, that work brought her near the corner table, though she wasn’t sure what to say to him. She couldn’t volunteer to keep him company; it wasn’t her day off.

“I should resign,” he muttered.

“And give up the work you love?” she exclaimed. His back stiffened, and she returned to wiping the closest table. “If you think having 2 days off a week is bad, wait until you have all 8 off, with nothing to do.” She looked up, helpful suggestions in mind, but his look of forlorn misery made her stop. She pulled the errant chair to his table and sat down. “You’re not bored, you’re- What’s wrong?”

His head down, his hands fidgeted with the cup of coffee. His mouth opened twice, but no words came out, until - finally - “I’m the worst excuse for an officer ever.”

“Don’t be silly. Winthrop claims that distinction. You are a knight in shining armor, compared to him.”

His agitation caused oily-topped coffee to slop out of his cup, and he cast a furtive glance at her from under his eyebrows. “Don’t be so sure.”

“I’ve known you a long time, and-“

“These days, I don’t even know myself,” he answered.

I was like this. Pushed everybody away, felt sorry for myself. No wonder everybody left me to my own devices, if I was this impossible. Smitty tried the longest to cheer me up, but I wouldn’t let him. Hope he’s not as deeply entrenched in ‘woe is me’ as I was. Maybe a change of subject. “How did the redhead do on her probationary? That was last night, wasn’t it?”

If looks could kill, his coffee was dead 9 times over. “She failed.”

Ferguson had been sure... “That was 6 for her, wasn’t it?”

He sat bolt upright and stared at her in shock. “I did not!” His face turned red and his gaze slid away from her. “I... don’t think so.” His coloring drained and he shook his head as he lowered it again. “I don’t know.”

What is he talking about? He isn’t making any sense. “You don’t know what?”

“If we had sex,” he whispered.

He shouldn’t be confused about that, not with that redhead. She glanced around to make sure they were still alone, then leaned forward. “How can you not know whether or not you had sex?” It was hard to keep her voice low.

“Because she wasn’t there!”

Then what is he confused about? And why act so guilty? “Then it seems pretty certain that you didn’t have sex.”

“I mean... I don’t think she was there. I thought it was a dream. But it seemed so real! Maybe it was real. Then it returned to the same old dream, so she wasn’t.” He sighed in relief. “Nothing happened.” But he didn’t look up, and his brow furrowed again. “If nothing happened, if she wasn’t there, then why did she start to mention it when I got to the bridge this morning?”

He is definitely in a tizzy. I think we’re still talking about the redhead, although I’m not sure how we got from her test to last night’s dream. And I don’t dare ask for specifics. But if I don’t, how can I guide this conversation? “It was a... wet dream?”

He gave one short nod. “That one always is, even if I don’t... give in. She was more plain-spoken last night than usual. But I sent her away, I swear I did! She had to get to her duty station, and... But she didn’t go. Yet, I have no record of her being late for duty.”

“You’ve had this dream before. When? Is there a pattern?”

“After I’ve seen her. I’ll have it again tonight, I know!”

“This isn’t that big a ship. Don’t you see her nearly every day?”

“I try not to.” He did look up now. “Anna, I actively try not to be around her! It’s the only way to keep my sanity!”

That’s got to make it hard to be an effective superior. Oh! He is her superior! Otherwise, he wouldn’t be in this quandary. He could - discreetly - woo her into his bed, and get this lust out of his system. But he’s too much of an officer to even consider doing that with an underling. What’s different this time?

“Smitty, shore leave is coming,” she pointed out, without any hope he’d accept this suggestion. He canted his head slightly in confusion. She leaned closer. “If you want her this badly, get together as civilians during shore leave!”

His head jerked back. He looked insulted. “I will not!”

No, didn’t think so.

“Shore leave comes after her probation ends.” His gaze lowered once again to his beverage. “If she doesn’t pass, she’d be-“ he cleared his throat, “-moving on. To another assignment.”

“In which case, once she steps off ship, she’d not be your underling.” He’s actually considering that! But I know him. He’ll say she’d still be a lower rank in the same field, and dismiss the idea. Try a different angle, Anna, and hurry it up! “You wouldn’t do anything if she wasn’t interested, I know that.”

His face fell into glumness. “Scared to death of me, for some reason. I haven’t laid a hand on her! When she asked if I was the same as previous superiors - whose expectations were perfectly clear! - I curtly told her that wasn’t acceptable on the Fireball!” He paused, then went back to his original subject. “If she wasn’t there, if it really was just a dream, why did she remind me of it this morning? It doesn’t make sense.”

No, it doesn’t. “What exactly did she say?”

“She said, ‘About last night-‘. And then I stopped her. I couldn’t have the entire bridge know she came to my quarters last night!”

If it was a dream, that wasn’t what she was talking about. “Perhaps she was trying to say something about her test.”

He grimaced. “That went as poorly as they all have. Half the questions were ones she answered last month, and then Takor interrupted the procedure, so I couldn’t even splice-“ He stopped, looked up in alarm.

Anna smiled. “This is me, Smitty. You couldn’t do what?”

He swallowed and looked around the room. “I couldn’t splice her answers to two tests together to give her a passing grade. There weren’t enough questions, different questions, to get to a passing grade.”

Not regulation, but it sounds like something he might do. “So you actually want her to pass her probation?”

His eyebrows drew together as he gave her a bleak look. “I’m spaced if she does, and spaced if she doesn’t.”

“Smitty, is she interested in you?”

“She’s got... other men. Doesn’t need me. Even if she’s asked me-“

“Asked you what?” Anna urged.

“For sex.”

“In your dream?”

“And last shore leave. Called it R&R, like her previous superiors did. When she refused, she was kept on ship during all the shore leaves, so-“ He considered his coffee once more. “I may have been the one to suggest sex,” he admitted.

“Last shore leave?”

“No, I still had will power then. Last night, when she came to-“

“That was a dream,” she reminded him.

“Oh. Yes. We established that, didn’t we?”

A timer sounded in the kitchen. “My pies.” Anna stood up.

“I got it!” Ferguson called out.

Smitty placed a hand on her arm. “Sorry to burden you with my problems, Anna. It’s good to have someone to talk to. How long until lunch? I’m hungry.”

Anna patted his shoulder. “Smitty, you missed lunch. We’re working on supper. But there’s pie or cake, if you want a snack.”

“Supper? Well, at least most of the day is over,” he muttered, and raised the cup to his mouth. “Blast, that’s stone cold!”

Anna finished the dining room and went back to the kitchen, her thoughts in a whirl. So, Smitty’s gone from turning her down to suggesting sex himself, even if only in his dream. Was the girl testing him, so soon after she came aboard? Could be. He’s really got it bad. I’ve never seen him so preoccupied, he’s forgotten to drink his coffee, not even when he’s working. This could get nasty, especially if MacDowell isn’t interested.

How can I possibly go to the girl and ask what her feelings are? I doubt she sees me as a confident. Jane knows her officers are people, and how to turn a blind eye, but won’t if one of them complains. Left me and Michael alone, until he started-. Smitty would never be like that. Wonder what she thinks of Smitty with Colleen. Does she know what he’s going through?

“Chef, I think the lettuce has surrendered.”

“What?” She looked up into Ferguson’s smiling eyes.

“You’ve been staring at that head of lettuce with the knife poised above it for several minutes.”

She glanced around the kitchen. Everybody was working. The lettuce, she decided, could wait. “I need to... consult somebody. I’ll be back shortly.” She went out the kitchen’s back door and headed for the bridge.

Capac’s Game

Month 5, Day 20

Bugalu

1857 Hours

As the last few minutes ticked by before the game was to start, the door opened yet again, admitting Tall Bear and Ferguson. Both frowned as they looked at the crowd gathered in Capac’s living room, then strode over to where Bugalu sat on the sofa. “How could you let her agree to this?” Tall Bear asked.

Bugalu glared at the AmerInd. No, it’s not his fault. He shrugged in frustration. “She’s cranky. Wouldn’t listen.”

“She’s been cranky lately,” Bear agreed.

“Maybe she’s tired of seeing you every lunch,” Ferguson muttered.

“I don’t think so. When she isn’t cranky, she thanks me for creating a no-hassle place for her in the middle of her shift. Anyway, knowing her, it doesn’t make sense for her to be at one of these games.”

“She doesn’t know the rules,” Bugalu told him.

Tall Bear turned his gaze to seek out the host, chatting with others a few feet away. “Is that true, Capac? You didn’t tell Mac the rules of your poker game?”

Capac turned to face him, tried not to look uncomfortable. “Everybody knows the rules.”

Bear’s stare became calculating. “Even the captain?”

Capac swallowed. “Well, I haven’t personally-“

The door opened again, and Mac walked in, stopped short at sight of the crowd, irritation plain on her face. Meanwhile, the men all stared at her. To them, it probably seems like she’s only wearing a pair of coveralls, but I’ve seen that shirt before, and it matches her skin color. Not sure why she bought it, but- I hope she’s got that shirt on.

Catching sight of Capac, Mac shoved her way over to him. “Capac, it doesn’t take this many people to play a game of poker.”

Capac smiled nervously, white teeth flashing in his brown face. “Most of them want to watch.”

“Watch?” she repeated, and looked around again. She scowled when she caught sight of Bugalu, and pointedly turned her back to him.

Yes, I’m here, Mac. Right now, you’re wondering what about this game you don’t understand, but you’re too miffed at me to ask. You’ll thank me later. Or be thankful, even if you don’t say it. Sometimes, brothers get taken for granted. Bugalu stood between the two body builders. “I’m not sure how to get her out of this,” he admitted in a whisper.

Ferguson responded. “She won’t stay, once she learns the rules.”

“If she weren’t so stubborn,” Bugalu agreed. “But she sees it as having made a promise, so backing out won’t be an option.”

“We’re here to help,” Bear muttered. “But if somebody else wins-”

“Whatever happens, she can’t wind up in the brig,” Bugalu returned.

“Right,” Ferguson agreed.

Mac considered the table with eight chairs, as well as what and who was behind each chair. “Capac, is this draw or stud?”

“Draw.”

“Is anything wild?”

“Jokers,” the Peruvian answered. “Just jokers.”

“Is there anywhere in particular you want me-?”

“In my bed,” someone uttered, loud enough that everyone heard it.

Mac turned red, which revealed the shirt under her coveralls. “-to sit?” she finished.

“Wherever you like,” Capac responded.

Mac pulled out the closest chair, and several men rushed to the table. Bugalu was moved forward by the two big men. “You’re in my chair,” Bear told Ryan, who had the seat on Mac’s left.

“Out!” Ferguson pulled Jones from the chair on Mac’s right, then shoved Bugalu into it. Bear had resorted to the same tactics, removing Ryan to claim that seat.

“Hey!” Ryan objected. “I told Capac I was going to play! You guys didn’t!”

“Didn’t get a chance,” Bear responded, while Ferguson took the seat next to Bugalu. “If anybody has a problem, we can talk later, but we’re playing.”

Bugalu glanced at the other four men at the table; Zaire, Peron, Capac and... he couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he was from physics. All of them know their math. And Mac always complained Poker involved too much math. “Mac, I have to-”

She turned to Tall Bear. “Poker’s a white man’s game, Tall. Are you any good at it?”

“I do okay.” He looked past her to Bugalu.

“She’s not talking, not listening to me. I said she was cranky.” Mac whirled around, eyes flashing, her mouth open to object, then she closed her mouth tight and faced forward. She is really mad. If we weren’t caught up in this nonsense, I’d pick a fight and get the air cleared between us.

“Oh, my, I didn’t realize these games were quite this popular!”

Monroe had entered Capac’s quarters, and was now posing just inside the door. Having made her entrance, she walked to the table. “Capac, I heard you were hosting a game, and I thought I might join it.”

“Maybe you need more tables,” Mac suggested.

Monroe turned her blue eyes in Mac’s direction. “Oh, are you here? I didn’t notice you.”

“Capac, get up,” Bugalu ordered. “Liz is playing.”

The navigator was horrified. “But I’m the host. I always play.”

“Be a gentleman,” Ferguson said, “and let Liz play.”

“Have a seat, Monroe,” Tall Bear suggested, his dark eyes staring at Capac.

“Thank you, boys,” the blond purred as she took the chair Capac reluctantly vacated. She smiled at Bugalu. “I expected another date, Bugalu.” Her gaze veered to Mac. “But I hear you’ve been... extra busy. Maybe you should have her move in.”

Mac jerked at the suggestion, and her chair grated back an inch. “Move in!”

“Well, it would be more private than your quarters,” Monroe explained. “No Della walking in at the end of her shift.”

Confused, Mac turned to Bugalu. Confusion wins over anger. Temporarily, at least. “She means my days off, when I spend them at your place.”

Mac rolled her eyes. “Oh, that. You two always wake me when she gets home, with all that talking.”

Somewhere in the crowd, Ryan asked, “You bother to talk to Della?”

That explains why he isn’t the great success with women he believes he is. Well, can’t put this off forever. The sooner we start, the sooner it ends. He picked up the deck of cards and started shuffling. “Mac, we can still do something else.”

Her eyebrows drew together in renewed anger. “Just deal.”

He sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” He started dealing the cards, ignoring her thoughtful look.

Mac glanced at the table as she rearranged her cards. “How do we ante up? Where are the chips?”

“The fact that you’re at the table, ready to play, is your ante,” Capac told her. She frowned in confusion, but didn’t ask for more clarification.

Mac discarded four of the cards in her hands, and accepted replacements. After considering the additions, she grimaced. “I fold.”

“You can’t,” half a dozen men told her.

Surprised, she asked, “Why not?”

“It’s the nature of this game,” Bugalu told her. “Being ready to play is your ante, but you have to play the hand out. Each hand has a winner and a loser, and they can’t figure out your score if you don’t finish.” Bugalu collected the discards, added them to the unused cards, and shuffled. “You get one more draw,” he told her.

She sighed, picked up her cards and discarded 4 again. She hardly looked at her replacement cards before Peron stated, “I suspect I win this hand,” and laid down a hand that included 3 aces.

“That beats me,” Monroe declared, laying down a hand full of small numbers. The other men put down their hands, and none were better than Peron’s, nor worse than Monroe’s.

Bugalu held his breath as Mac put down her cards. Her hand was as bad as he’d feared. “Looks like Liz and I both lose.”

“No,” Zaire answered. “Monroe has a ten high card. Mac doesn’t even have that.”

“Fine, I lose.” Mac gathered the cards together to shuffle, then looked up, surprised that everybody was staring at her. “Now what?”

“You haven’t done it yet,” Peron observed.

“Done what?”

Peron grinned. “This is strip poker.”

Cards went flying. Mac whirled to face Bugalu. “You knew all along!”

“I tried to tell you,” he returned, his own voice raised. “But you wouldn’t listen!”

She muttered in Gaelic as she turned back to the table. The scattered cards were removed, and Capac set another deck in front of her. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him close. “You’ll pay for this, Capac.”

The Peruvian swallowed. “But everybody knows my games are strip poker.”

“I didn’t,” she snapped, and pushed him away. “Get me a drink,” she instructed as she stood up. After removing her shoes, she briefly showed the footwear to Peron and sat down to shuffle. When Capac placed a brown bottle on the table, she cocked her head, trying to read the label. “What’s that?”

“Peruvian beer. You wanted a drink.”

“Yeah, but I don’t drink beer.” She returned to shuffling.

Bugalu gave the bottle back to the navigator. “She wants whiskey.”

“I don’t have any whiskey.”

“Here.” An arm appeared between Mac and Tall Bear holding a silver cloth bag that obviously held a bottle.

“I don’t think that’s your brand, Shorty,” Bear muttered.

“Brand doesn’t matter,” she replied, gently taking the offering. “Although there are a couple I drink only as a last resort.” She slowly lowered the bag from around the bottle, and stared at the embossed silver label. “Wow. This brand demands a glass.”

“Get the lady a glass, Capac,” Peron instructed. “Make it a big one.”

“Who-“ Mac began, turning in her chair, and stared at MacGregor, who stood behind her. Her face paled. “Et tu, Brute?”

Doc shook his head. “You told me alcohol helps you concentrate. When I heard you were playing poker, I thought you might need that. Even if you’re mad at me.”

“How many people are you mad at?” Tall Bear asked her.

She sighed. “The world. The universe.” Capac placed a water glass in front of her, and she opened the bottle. Bugalu watched, worried she might repeat the Horseless Carriage, but she poured less than a finger. Then she capped the bottle, slipped the cloth back up around it, and placed it on the floor before she sipped from the glass. “Thanks, Mac,” she tossed behind her, and rolled her shoulders before she began to deal.

“Can you focus now?” Bugalu asked her.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I don’t care. We’ll talk about it later. Right now, play like you mean it.”

“You’re telling me what to do again.”

As Bugalu searched for words that might get through her anger, Bear softly said, “Please, Shorty, don’t wind up in the brig.”

She hesitated in dealing the cards. “You’re a lieutenant. You’re not in charge of security.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve been so busy studying, I haven’t memorized the crew roster. Who’s head of security?”

“Winthrop.”

“Definitely got to play like I mean it,” she muttered, and finished dealing.

Whether it was the realization that she’d be expected to strip, the alcohol, or the potential of landing in Winthrop’s home court, Mac was now paying attention. Monroe, on the other hand, seemed to try to lose. With the next two hands, Monroe removed her shoes and tunic. The men may have come to watch Mac lose her clothing, but having a woman almost as attractive in nothing but underwear made it hard for most of them to concentrate. When Peron dealt, Mac won the hand, Tall Bear lost. Instead of removing his shoes, the AmerInd removed his shirt. Mac choked on her sip of whiskey until Bear patted her on the back. That brought her close to his broad chest, and she abruptly turned to face Bugalu. As her red face began to fade, Bugalu saw beads of sweat on her forehead. Mac really is growing up.

Leaning forward, Doc muttered, “Thought you didn’t notice such things.”

She grimaced. “I’m my father’s daughter, but I’m not dead!”

“Glad to hear it,” Tall Bear told her with a smile, and turned back to the table. “Liz, it’s your turn to deal.”

Why couldn’t he have removed his shoes? Mac isn’t dead, and she is growing up, and now her concentration is shot. This is bad. She lost that hand. Absolutely white, Mac finished the liquid in her glass before she stood to remove her coveralls. Bugalu refused to watch - We don’t need lust complicating our relationship - but was aware of how slowly those coveralls came off. Probably seems like a strip-tease to everybody else. But she’s doing it so slowly because she wants so much not to do it at all. Maybe that’ll teach her to keep her mind on what she’s doing.

Eventually, the coveralls were off, and Mac sat down abruptly. Her shirt reached her upper thighs, so she was almost as dressed as she would have been in uniform.

“MacDowell,” Peron stated softly, his eyes glinting. “You’re mine tonight.”

“Peron,” Doc stated, claiming the officer’s attention. “Does the captain know you’re trying to get an underling into your bed?”

Peron grinned in response. “Does she know that you’re blatantly watching a direct underling lose at strip poker?” He indicated the blond nurse sitting beside him, who smiled invitingly at the Doc.

“Oh. Monroe. Checkmate,” Doc muttered. Monroe’s smile became a pasted-on thing, and her eyes flashed with anger.

While the cards were shuffled and dealt, Mac poured herself another half finger of whiskey. “I get the feeling I still don’t know all the rules of this game,” she whispered.

“The purpose of the game is to match a man and woman for sex.”

“Yeah, Peron made that pretty obvious. But how, exactly, does it do it?”

“It’s the last hand,” Bugalu told her. “The hand where somebody loses their last piece of clothing. The winner of that hand gets to claim the loser’s... affection for the rest of the shift.”

She picked up her first card while looking around the table. “Six to two. What happens if the winner and loser are the same gender?”

Surprised, Capac said, “It’s never come up. The women always lose.”

One corner of Mac’s mouth tipped upward. “Other women didn’t have my teachers.” She studied her hand. She sounds confident. Probably what she’s going for.

“I’ve been thinking,” Monroe suddenly stated. “It doesn’t seem like Mac’s been here before. I wonder if she’s here because she’s tired of you, Bugalu. She seemed pretty shocked by the idea of moving in.” Monroe leaned forward to enhance his view of her barely-contained breasts. “And she doesn’t seem eager to have you lose your clothing.”

“Me?” Mac asked, never taking her eyes from her cards. “I’ve got 8 brothers, Monroe. Bugs hasn’t got anything they don’t have.”

“Well, dearie, based on your reactions, that would imply that Tall Bear does have something your brothers don’t have.”

“He does,” Mac replied without hesitation.

“I do?” Bear asked. “What?”

“Visible muscles.” Mac regarded his face thoughtfully. “And a really nice tan.” She turned back to her cards. “Gaelunders don’t tan; we just grow more freckles until we look like we’ve got measles.”

“How many cards, Ferguson?” the dealer asked, returning attention to the game.

With this hand, Monroe lost her bra, which seemed to delight her. Now, that’s a strip-tease. The room’s temperature has raised 10 degrees, at least. She’s having the time of her life, with every man’s attention.

Tossing her lacy bra to the crowd, Monroe didn’t sit down immediately, but leaned across the table to get her face as close to Bugalu’s as she could. “You know, if she is tired of you, I’d be happy to take her place.”

Bugalu pondered several answers, from denying that kind of relationship with Mac to impolitely informing Monroe he wasn’t interested.

“Bugs!”

“What?” he responded, but still couldn’t decide how to answer Monroe.

Slim fingers took hold of his jaw, and his head was forcibly turned until his gaze landed on Mac’s green eyes. She flashed him a grin. “Remember shore leave? What we did?”

Nothing about shore leave struck him as particularly memorable, except- “We went dancing.”

“Before that,” she told him.

He drew a blank. “Day 2, I was aboard.”

“Before that.”

“You played pool and had another argument,” Capak offered.

Mac cast a milli-second glare at the Peruvian. “Before that,” she urged Bugalu.

“You went shopping with some of the ladies.”

“Before that.”

There wasn’t much shore leave before that. “You went shopping while I waited.”

“After that. We were walking and saw this cute little place. We went inside and spent 3 delightful hours-“

Phybu! And she blasted near beat me!

“You remember, don’t you?” He nodded. She leaned so close their noses almost touched. “Do you know how I got so good at that?” He shook his head, as much as her fingers would let him. She gave him a sweet smile, but her voice had a touch of harshness. “I learned to concentrate! If I have to focus on this game, then you do, too. Otherwise, Peron might wind up with you in his bed!”

“You’ll never convince me those two are just friends,” someone stated.

“Yeah, you could see steam rising off them. His days as a free man are limited.”

“You did that on purpose,” he accused. “When that gets around, you’ll make a serious dent in my social life.”

Mac smiled at her cards. “Thought I already had.” The smile faded, as did her voice. “Doesn’t look like I’ll be here much longer, anyway.”

Bugalu picked up his cards. Okay, that’s her problem today. Not that Doc called her in for a physical, or that I told him how badly she sleeps. She went through a lot to get here, but she’s given up on making the grade. And there’s no reason for it! Abdulla and Ivy both say she knows her stuff. And now that she’s in my life - again - I don’t want her gone. It’s bad enough only getting to share letters with my real family.

“Focus, Bugs,” she muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” he returned, and shoved thoughts of her imminent dismissal away.

Time drug as 7 players concentrated on getting the best hand they could. Monroe spent her time posing, which made concentration more difficult for 6 players. But finally, the men started laying down their hands.

The physicist had 2 pair, jacks & eights; Ferguson had a 7-high straight. Bugalu felt lucky with a full house of jacks and tens, but Tall Bear’s full house of queens and fives beat him. Zaire had an eight-high straight, and Peron triumphantly revealed four aces.

Monroe tossed in her cards - again small numbers - and turned to face Peron fully as she stood to remove her panties. “Guess you’ve won me, sir.”

“No. He hasn’t,” Mac stated clearly, and put down her first card; the ten of clubs. One by one, she put down the jack, queen, and king of clubs. She paused before revealing the last card.

“She can’t have a royal flush,” someone muttered. “Peron had all the aces.”

“Ace of clubs,” Mac announced, and put down a joker. “I won this hand. And since the loser lost her last article of clothing, this game is over.”

Monroe angrily declared, “I don’t do women!”

“Good, because I don’t want you,” Mac returned and scooted her chair back to rummage under the table. “The game is over, so I get to leave.” Her tone said she would not allow anyone to contradict her. “Blast, where is my other shoe? Oh, here it is.” She stood up with her shoes in one hand and the whiskey in the other.

Bugalu started to get up, but her wrist on his shoulder pushed him down. “No, don’t let me interfere with your social life, Bugsy. Play another game. Maybe you’ll win Liz. I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Coveralls,” Doc told her, and draped that article over her shoulder. “Am I forgiven for daring to worry about your health?”

She grimaced. “I suppose, as long as you don’t do it again!”

“I absolutely will not do it again,” he stated.

“Men always make promises they can’t keep.” She regarded Peron. “As it turns out, I am not yours tonight. Nor any other night.” She briefly touched Tall Bear’s bare shoulder with the back of one hand. “Thanks, Bear, Ferg.”

“Lunch?” Tall Bear asked.

“Of course.” She turned back to Doc. “Escort me out, Unc?”

“Happy to,” he agreed, and they started for the door.

Halfway there, Mac stopped. “Capac!” The navigator jumped at the call. “You’re still going to pay,” she told him and left.

“She’s spicy,” Peron stated.

“What was that about?” Ferguson asked Bugalu. “She won the hand, and it was like a switch suddenly reversed inside her.”

“Relief,” he answered briefly. She didn’t think she was going to get out of here without things getting nasty. I wasn’t too sure of it, either. “Suddenly, I don’t feel like poker. Think I’ll hit the hot tub.”

“I’m going to call it a night,” Ferguson decided.

“I got things to do.” Tall Bear stood, and they left, each going his own way once outside.